


as snow leaves its toll on the cold and deadened winter ground, so too does it cover traces of all the sinful steps taken in its absence

by Upupanyway



Category: Daredevil (Comics), Daredevil (TV), Punisher (Comics), The Punisher (TV 2017)
Genre: M/M, Merry Christmas, Sharing a Bed, Snowed In, like fatphobia antisemitism homophobia, motel shenanigans, some unpleasantness at the beginning, sometimes family is not the best
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-25
Updated: 2019-12-25
Packaged: 2021-02-26 07:48:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,535
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21949831
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Upupanyway/pseuds/Upupanyway
Summary: Foggy needs to escape his family for the holidays, so Frank helps him out. They get stuck in a blizzard together, but it's so cold.
Relationships: Frank Castle/Franklin "Foggy" Nelson
Comments: 8
Kudos: 77





	as snow leaves its toll on the cold and deadened winter ground, so too does it cover traces of all the sinful steps taken in its absence

The holidays are a glorious time full of family and dancing lights and heavy meals. These are a few of Foggy’s favourite things, so it’s a real wonder that the holidays get ruined every year because of the _relatives_.

“So when are you finding a nice little wife?” Grandpa Johan asks, poking at Foggy’s gut with a wrinkled and stiff finger. It’s still three days until Christmas, but most of his family from abroad and around the country have already made it to casa Nelson already.

Foggy sighs. He has had this conversation every year with the same people since he was sixteen. “I’m not looking, Gramps.”

Johan tuts, not to be mean, but it comes across as very condescending. “You’re never gonna find someone looking like that, you know. Ladies don’t like fatties.”

An indignant squeak erupts from beside them and Anna Nelson sets down her devilled eggs to wrap her arm around her son.

“Listen Johan,” she says, warning. “I know we’re family now, so I can’t knock you a new one, but you’re gonna have to not insult my children when you’re under my roof.”

Johan scoffs. “So the Jew’s gonna preach to me. Typical.”

Foggy turns to his mother, who is still smiling, but he recognizes more honestly as a silent seethe. “Mom-” he starts, but she just turns and walks away. From under the table, Foggy texts “help me” to Matt, who is probably at church, because he’s always at church around the holidays.

“Maybe he’s gay,” cousin Mabel suggests casually. She’s fourteen, and Johan’s favourite because she’s too young to be a disappointment yet.

“He’s not gay,” Johan insists.

“Actually-” Foggy says. He half-wants to come out just to spite him, but it would ruin the family dinner, because half of his extended family are very “proper” which, in this case, means they would bring you casserole if your mom got cancer, but disown their children if they got a face piercing.

Johan glares at him. “You’re not gay.”

“So somehow it’s less godly than to divorce three times and sleep with two secretaries half your age?” Foggy spits, wanting a win, but knowing that it’s probably impossible.

“At least I was getting laid in my time. Look at you, you’re at your physical peak and you’re wasting it on burgers and sodas. And taking it up the ass, I guess.”

"Yes, and it's wonderful. Not so different from the stick you've had up yours for the past few decades."

Foggy leaves the conversation, finding the kitchen, where his mother is pulling some roasted vegetables out of the oven.

“Foggy!” she says when she sees him at the doorway. “Here to seek asylum?” He nods and lets her wrap him up in a sage-and-rosemary embrace. “I fucking hate Christmas,” she sighs into his ear.

He laughs loudly. “I may have just come out to Johan, so how long do you think we have until Marjorie hears and starts lecturing about sinning?”

Anna hugs him tighter. “You are, by far, my bravest and stupidest child.” Gingerly, she spoons some applesauce on a latke and feeds it to him. “I give you six minutes. Come back by New Year’s.”

“Do you think they’d be interested if I explain to them the nuances of bisexuality?”

“I think you’d better get a move on before they start praying passive-aggressively.”

-

Outside, to Foggy’s surprise, is Frank, looking menacing and dark amidst the neighbourhood lights. He wears a lot of black, and his beaten down SUV is a grim contrast to the ones that the mothers use to take their myriad children to their various teams and practices and recitals. He gives Foggy a gruff nod when he sees him at the doorway.

“What are you doing here?” Foggy asks, pulling on his gloves as he steps down the stoop.

“You texted me.”

With some trouble, Foggy reaches for his phone and pulls up his most recent interactions. Sure enough, his plea for help went to “Castle” instead of “Daredevil,” so now he’s stuck with a situation he knows even less what to do with.

“So you tracked my phone and found my parent’s house?”

Frank nods and shrugs. “Wanna get out of here? I'll take you home, but I gotta be in Boston by tomorrow.”

“God, take me with you,” Foggy half-begs, half-jokes. Frank takes a second to gawk at him.

“You serious, Nelson?”

Foggy shrugs. “It’s been a rough one. Will I be an accomplice to anything?”

“Not this time. I got an old friend who invited me to his for Christmas. Lieutenant Thomas. Didn’t want me to be alone.”

Foggy thinks about Frank, his mean demeanour, his icy core. He considers, for the first time, that Frank might actually be a lonely man by nature. Then, he considers, also for the first time, that perhaps Frank doesn't want to be. Resigning himself to spending the holidays with someone who has far too much bloodlust for his general liking, he watches as the other man walks around the car to take the driver’s seat.

“Not gonna spend it with Micro and them?”

Frank shakes his head. “They’re too decent.”

Foggy nods, understanding. He opens the door to the car as Mabel shouts at him out the window.

“Is that your boyfriend?” she asks, completely serious.

He looks to Frank, who shrugs. Then, he looks at his mess of a home, bursting with opinions and hypocrisies. “Yes,” he says, and gets in the car.

-

“And he’s always sort of been like that,” Foggy shrugs, dipping his fries into his milkshake. He takes a salty-sweet bite and hardly chews before swallowing. A pickle slips out of Frank’s burger and no one does anything about it. “I know he’s family, and I should love him, but he makes it so hard when he’s so _traditional_ and belligerent about it.”

“Sounds like a dick,” Frank comments with a mouthful of burger. The restaurant is empty, so no one’s there to judge them, but they should definitely be judged.

“That’s half my family. Sometimes I’m dating someone who isn’t white and they get all hush hush about it, too. They’re not rude, but there were some years where they kept ‘forgetting’ to reply to my emails.”

Frank nods along, taking deep gulps of his soda.

“I’m sorry, this is probably really boring.”

A shrug. Foggy rolls his eyes.

“Not much for conversation, huh?”

Frank takes a moment to consider their meal, takes another bite before setting it down to speak.

“I gotta tell you, kid. Sometimes I miss all that family shit. Bitter cousins and all. Now that I’m officially dead, I’m just a floater.”

Again, the shock of Frank's wanting to be someone else strikes him. He thinks that perhaps Frank deserves someone to look after him, someone to look after in return. He can't fathom a scenario where he would be that person, but Foggy thinks it ought to be _someone_. “Oh, Frank.” Slowly, Foggy takes a greasy hand and lays it on top of Frank’s. “If you want, you could take mine,” he says seriously.

“Not in a million years, Nelson,” Frank says. He steals from Foggy’s milkshake and Foggy takes from Frank’s mac'n'cheese. Thankfully, there's laughter involved.

-

The road is slippery and dark by midnight, and they’re nowhere near where they need to be. The cold is piling higher, and the snow is blinding them.

“Jesus fuck,” swears Foggy when he exits into the motel parking lot.

“You kiss your mother with that mouth?” Frank laughs into the chilled wind. Foggy nearly doesn’t catch it.

“And yours, you dick. Hurry up before we get hypothermia.”

“It’s only three yards.”

“It’s a whole three yards!” Foggy whines, and is met with a giant black coat enveloping him. Surprised, Foggy looks at Frank, who shrugs, shivering in his long-sleeved black t-shirt.

“It’s only three yards,” he reiterates, stepping heavily onto the fresh-fallen snow between them and the motel door. The bell chimes, and a tired looking woman waves them over to her with a cheery greeting.

“Room for two, please," Frank requests.

“I’m so sorry, but all we have is a single,” the harried clerk says. Her hair is unbrushed, and she is wearing multiple layers of sweaters. “And our heat’s busted for the night since our maintenance team couldn’t make it on site. We’re snowed in, I’m afraid. But we’ll give you a crazy discount. Again, I’m so sorry.”

Sighing, Foggy fishes for his wallet. “We’ll do the night.” Out of the corner of his eye, he almost catches Frank’s teeth chattering.

-

It’s not a few minutes later, and they’ve washed up using the motel’s too-oily bar soap and and the too-sour toothpaste and too-small travel toothbrushes (”free of charge!” the clerk had said, shoving handfuls of travel-sized goodies into Foggy’s hands. “Again, we’re so sorry about the heating.”), so the pair of them are shivering under the lone blanket on their lone single bed, bumping elbows and knocking knees to the tune of their thick down coats swishing between them.

“Do you think we should be trying to share body heat?” Frank suggests at last.

“Trying to get me naked?” Foggy jokes tensely, though he sneezes immediately after.

“Sure, if it’ll actually get you to take the coat off.”

Foggy pouts. “But you _gave_ it to me.”

“I lent it to you at best, now give me your body heat.”

Frank reaches for him, but Foggy slinks backwards and off of the bed. They tumble to the floor and Foggy bumps his head against the chilled hardwood. Frank's hands land buried between the layers of jacket and Foggy’s sweater, heavy on his chest.

“Ow,” Foggy says, and mentions nothing about the hands on him that are suddenly unwilling to move away. Instead, Frank burrows himself even deeper into the fabric.

Frank buries his face into Foggy’s sweatered chest and ignores the way the fibrous yarn catches his stubble. “You bastard,” he weeps. “It’s so warm, you absolute fucker.”

“Ugh, get off of me. We can cuddle,” Foggy concedes. Haphazardly, he takes off Frank’s coat, and then his own. He struggles upward with the 200lb man on top of him, but he shuffles the coats onto the bed, piling them neatly on top of the blanket. Then, to make a point, he takes off his sweater, too so that he’s just in his socks and shirt and jeans, and he adds it to the pile.

“Satisfied?” Foggy asks, but instead of an answer, Frank just pulls the blanket up and wraps himself inside it. “Okay, now _you’re_ being selfish.” He has to wrestle a little to get Frank to let him inside, but he relaxes once he’s under the covers.

“Your pants are uncomfortable,” Frank says finally.

“You really are trying to get me naked, huh?”

“Who wears a belt to bed?”

“You do, apparently,” Foggy retaliates, reaching a hand down to tug at Frank’s own belt, which is made of canvas, and hardly more comfortable than Foggy’s own leather.

“It’s different.”

“It’s not.”

There’s a beat, and then some jingling, and then Frank’s cargo pants are added to the pile on top of them.

“Happy?” Frank asks him, reaching for Foggy’s belt.

“Never.”

A beat passes between them, and it’s almost serene, despite their continued shivering.

It ends when Frank’s phone buzzes alive from his pants. Coughing to regain composure, Frank takes it from his pocket and brings it to his ear.

“Hello?” he calls gruffly, and his voice betrays nothing.

“Castle? You were running late, and I wanted to follow up.”

Frank looks between himself and Foggy, and at the cold between them, and also at their state of undress. Finally, his eyes dart towards the window, where the snow pile-up would soon have to be measured in feet, not mere inches.

“Got a little snowed in. My apologies, lieutenant.”

“Think you can make it for tomorrow night?”

He takes another sideways glance at the window, where the now doesn’t show any sign of stopping. Even if it were to stop, the roads would be icy, if they were cleared at all.

“I don’t think so, sir.”

Theres’s a tinny sigh from the other line and a loaded moment. “Just tell me you’re not alone this year, Francis. You were doing so well, and you deserve someone there to witness it.”

Foggy looks up at him curiously, his blondish-brownish hair sweeping onto his face messily. “I’m not,” Frank says honestly.

Another pause, as if Thomas is considering it. “If you’re sure. Have a merry Christmas, Frank.”

“You, too, sir.”

The dial sounds, and Frank stares at his phone for a while, wondering if that’s all he appears to be; someone murderous, someone lost, someone lonely. He takes a picture of Foggy in bed with him, watching Frank with curious eyes before realizing that a picture is being taken.

The first shot is blurry, and the flash is horrendous. The phone is years out of date and the photo is ugly and grainy, with Foggy’s hand reaching for the camera. Still, there’s a sliver of Foggy’s face, determined but playful. The next shot is of Frank, almost laughing, pinned down between Foggy’s thighs, half covering his own face. It’s a momentary shot, and missing context, it looks like he’s happy. The shot after, the illusion deflates as the shot is clearer, and the weariness of his face takes him again, but for two glorious snapshots, he feels like someone else.

Spitefully, or because he feels the need to prove to someone, anyone, that he isn’t perpetually miserable, he sends both of them to Lt. Thomas.

A few seconds later, he gets a single text that reads “have fun.” and Frank gives himself permission to put the phone back into his pocket.

“Thanks,” Frank says mysteriously as he shuffles back into the bed properly. Foggy follows suit, neatly arranging their clothing pile to maximize surface area. He even tucks in all the ends under them, cocooning them further, drawing them even closer together.

“For what?” Foggy asks, sliding in, deep into the sheets and catching Frank’s face in the dark. It feels unreal, whatever is happening between them. Alien and mystical in the moonlight shining through the thin curtains.

“Keeping me company. Not letting me freeze to death.”

“So dramatic,” Foggy teases, though it’s a whisper said to Frank’s lips. When he looks up, it’s to the realization that Frank is watching him, too, and that there’s a hand ghosting at the skin at his hip, just above his waistband. He reaches for the belt again, though the context has changed.

Foggy rolls forward, decisive, and catches Frank’s mouth in his.

They kiss slowly for a while, inching closer and flush with each other, fulfilling what these motel beds were made for, what their bodies were made for.

“You know what’ll really get us warm?”

“What’s that, kid?” Frank asks, though it’s with a smirk. Foggy covers it with his palm, groaning.

“Shut up. You know.”

“I want to hear you say it.”

“We should, you know, fuck. If you want.”

“Sounds like a plan,” Frank laughs.

And they do warm up a great deal.

**Author's Note:**

> prompt from [ tumblr ](https://artbymintcookies.tumblr.com/). reuploading here with some edits. as ya do.


End file.
